Rorshach
by CrimsonCobwebs
Summary: Rinoa, Squall and Seifer attempt to carve a place for themselves in a world that rejects them. Bonds made of magic cannot be severed so easily. What defines a monster, anyway?
1. Rat

Without writing a multi-chapter fic, I really wanted to explore how Rinoa might evolve as a sorceress, and how it would affect her and Squall's relationship, while also delving into the inner workings of Garden and the world's general mythos. I estimate this will be in two long parts. It's almost like a partner piece to my AU. Also I'd give this fic a rating of maybe 16 year+ ? Teetering somewhere between T and M, I guess. Anyway, if you enjoyed it please do leave your thoughts on your way out – I always appreciate it!

* * *

 **Rorshach**

* * *

 _'Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster._  
 _And if you gaze long enough into an abyss,_  
 _the abyss will gaze back into you.'_  
-Friedrich Nietzsche

* * *

 _\- Part 1:_ Rat -

"Look at zis picture, and tell me what you see."

The doctors back in Timber probably would have held up a card, then. Printed and laminated, something tangible to be studied, acting as a physical bridge between doctor and patient. But this wasn't Timber. This wasn't even the West. It was Esthar, and in Esthar everything was fancy, almost obnoxiously so, demonstrated when the doctor pressed a little button on a device and up popped the picture on a hologram. Impressive, indeed.

A whorl of dark splodges hovered in the air, like ink dropped in water.

"I see a butterfly," Rinoa Heartilly said.

Doctor Odine stared at her for a minute, as was his disconcerting wont, and then he pressed the button again and a different image appeared. "Zis one?"

"Hmmm…"

"Do not think. React."

"A puppy."

"Zis?"

"Branches of a tree."

"And zis?"

"A bow on top of a present."

Doctor Odine's face contorted as he tapped notes onto the keypad of his personalog. It had a tinted screen, so she couldn't read what he was typing without looking directly over his shoulder, but she didn't care what it said anyway. Odine was clearly not happy with the results, which was good news for her; it meant she exhibited no imminent signs of doing anything crazy. Like declaring war on all four nations. Or murdering a military dictator on live television. Or causing time compression.

Rinoa harboured the suspicion that Doctor Odine secretly hoped she might do all these things. He was scowling at her over the bridge of his spectacles, which were balanced almost ludicrously at the end of his nose. The lines in his forehead deepened and he tapped a finger aggressively against the screen of his personalog.

Yep. He was definitely disappointed.

Rinoa smiled sweetly at him. "How'd I do?"

"We must talk about the progression of your abilities."

Rinoa sighed. "I don't have any abilities; not really. I mean I can wield all the standard magic if I reach a Limit Break state but… But that's it. Honestly."

"Have you noticed any changes in yourself?"

Nobody had told Rinoa she was a sorceress. She'd just known. She had woken from the coma, and she was Rinoa, but she wasn't. She never would be again. She was Rinoa changed, warped, evolved, improved; Rinoa v 2.0. Her power had never been embryonic, but it grew inside of her regardless, until she couldn't deny it anymore. It was as much a part of her as her DNA, her thoughts, her organs.

Rinoa resented the fact that this change had been thrust onto her. She was so used to having the luxury of choice, having been born into the kind of lifestyle where ample opportunities were a birth right. She was independent and ambitious, so to suddenly attain all this dark power against her will, and to have it irrevocably alter her Life Plans – practically _dictate_ her destiny to her… Well. That sucked. Now all the opportunities she'd taken for granted were walled off and her future was looking more and more like a single road paved by somebody else's design.

"How does it work, anyway?" she asked, entirely forgetting the question he'd asked her.

"Vat?"

"The magic. I mean, I know I can do it. Cast, that is. I can probably do a lot of things, right? So… why can't I?"

Odine leaned back, pleased, perhaps, by the academic question. "Well, zat is ze mystery, no? Iz the magic limited to the intellectual and physical capabilities of ze host? Or must ze host first have an understanding of magic and learn to wield it? For example, not all sorceresses were known to be able to compress time. Does zat mean each magick iz unique? Or iz it the same, but reliant on ze host's unique abilities to dissect and wield it? Ultimecia, for example. Ze ability to manipulate time iz quite standard, but to do it with such skill … Was it because her magic was time orientated, or was it because she herself had the capabilities to become an expert time wielder? And if so, vat was it about her genetic makeup zat made it so?"

"Maybe it's like how we only use twenty percent of our brain capacity," Rinoa suggested. "Or like how some people are smarter than others." She blanched. "Does that mean I'm dumb? Because I haven't been able to use my sorceress powers?"

Odine's beady eyes scrutinised her with the kind of unnerving intensity that left Rinoa fearing the possibility of her imminent dissection. Sometimes she wondered what restrained him from doing so at all. Certainly nothing ethical.

 _Curiosities aren't as curious if they're dead,_ she thought morbidly.

"Zhey will come, I think. In time. Perhaps zhey are just… settling. Or perhaps you need to seek for zem. I will figure it out, sooner or later."

 _I bet you will_. "Are we done?"

"Not yet," Odine said. "I want to take a hair sample."

"Hair?" Rinoa repeated, raising a hand to her thick, dark locks that she'd meticulously braided that morning. "Why? Are you going to clone me?"

She'd said it with a smile, but Odine speared her with a look that made her wonder if he really was considering it.

"I'm joking," she stated flatly.

Odine waved a hand with a polite, entirely feigned guffaw. "It iz to study your DNA," he explained. "It would be interesting to see if genetics effect the potency of Hyne's magicks, yes? Perhaps there are people in the world who could not inherit the magicks at all. Rather, zhey might die upon receiving them, or the magicks might lay dormant, unable to manipulate the host."

Rinoa frowned. "Shouldn't it be: the host is unable to manipulate the magic?"

Odine shrugged. "One or ze other." He gestured to her hair. "I do not need much."

Reluctantly, Rinoa tugged out a few strands and dropped them into a clear ziplock bag (insultingly labelled 'biohazard') held out by a lab assistant, who was wearing thick disposable gloves, protective goggles and fire resistant padding under his lab coat. Once he'd left the room, Rinoa asked, "Is all that protective gear necessary? I'm not going to hurt anyone."

Odine looked up from whatever he was typing on his personalog. "Vat? Oh. Don't take it personally, Mizz Heartilly. It iz just that your powers have not cultivated, so currently you are classified as an IPT."

"A what?"

"An Indeterminate Potential Threat." He shrugged. "It iz… a necessary precaution."

She crossed one leg over the other, staring at the door the assistant had disappeared through. "So out of curiosity… What would you do if I just, y'know, went haywire?"

"Vat?"

"Like, started shooting lazers out of my eyes or something?"

Odine stared at her. "Can you do zat?"

"Uh… No? I don't think so. I was talking hypothetically. Like, if I could. What would you do?"

Odine shrugged again and said in a blasé manner, "We would immediately attempt to annihilate you."

* * *

The next day, Rinoa sat at the little table in Squall's apartment, lamenting her jet lag while she half interestedly stirring some microwaved spaghetti. Squall sat opposite her, reclined on a plastic chair, Weapons Monthly magazine propped in the nook of his elbow as he methodically made his way through his own spaghetti.

When they'd first started living together, Squall's tendency to opt for silence bothered her. She worried that she bored him, or that he didn't really want to talk to her, so she'd forced conversation out him, reasoning it was good for him, but he quickly became irritated by her efforts. Instead she maintained a moody silence throughout each meal, trying to elicit some sense of guilt by pointedly ignoring him. But Squall never seemed bothered by the silence, and after a while she realised he was simply appreciating her company; he _liked_ eating dinner with her. That was a big step for him, so she granted him the silence. He probably needed it after having to listen to the Garden Faculty moan at him all day anyway. Did that even count as socialising?

Regardless, Rinoa couldn't resist heckling him from time to time, if only for her own amusement and to remind him that she was still sitting at the table.

Rinoa rested her chin on the palm of her free hand and squinted at him. "Is it true," she started ominously, "that Garden teaches cadets to chew each mouthful of food twenty four times before swallowing?"

Squall stopped chewing and stared at her. He blinked once, undoubtedly gauging whether she was kidding around or asking a serious question about the Garden education system. At length, he answered, "Meals should be eaten with deliberation to prevent digestion and respective distraction during confrontation."

Rinoa poked a meatball. "Sooo… Do you chew twenty four times?"

A small frown formed between Squall's eyes. "No. I don't know. Maybe. I don't count."

"Okay."

She returned to sliding spaghetti into a spaghetti-pile on her plate and Squall continued to stare at her. After a moment, his gaze returned to the magazine spread and he uncomfortably said, "You don't have to go, you know."

"Hmm?"

"To Esthar. I don't know why you do. It's unnecessary."

Rinoa put down her fork. These offhand statements were Squall's way of expressing himself while delicately alluding to her own feelings; a definite step up in the Squall-Emotion evolutionary ladder, so Rinoa was always very considerate when handling these rare articulations. "Well, I don't know about that. I think it might benefit future generations if there was a better understanding of how sorceresses work. Because no one knows for sure what the power is or where it comes from, and there has never been any sorceresses, er, _cooperative_ enough to describe it. They're either in hiding or… killing people. I'm the first sorceress sane enough to volunteer!" She picked up her fork again and added cheerily, "Plus it'll help me understand myself."

"Is that what Doctor Odine told you?" There was a definite spark of anger in his tone then. Squall had never forgiven Odine for what he'd done to Ellone, nor did he like the man personally. She couldn't blame him, but Odine was an expert in his field. Also…

"What if I become dangerous?" Rinoa said quietly. "Esthar's technological advancements in magic suppression are unrivalled so –"

"That won't happen."

"But – "

"Not while I'm here." He stared at her unblinkingly, burning resolve in his eyes. Not an empty promise; no, not from Squall. He was simply stating a fact; how it was. She felt her heart swell a little to hear it. He always managed to make her feel better, even if he wasn't making the conscious effort to do so.

She leaned forward, grinning slightly. "So, how many times do you chew?"

* * *

Against Garden's advice, Rinoa introduced herself publicly in an international broadcast where she was interviewed by recently elected President Willis Mair of Deling City. She declared herself as a neutral figurehead and advocate of peace that acted independently from any government body or military organisation, such as Garden. Yes, she was dating Commander Squall Leonhart. Yes, he was her Knight. No, that didn't sway the loyalty of Garden in her favour. No, that didn't mean she backed Garden. Yes, the purpose of Garden was still the suppression of rogue sorceresses. No, she wasn't going to go on a killing rampage anytime soon.

But after the interview (which really did go alright, all things considering, and the public's response was pretty good, in a fearful we-haven't-even-recovered-from-almost-being -annihilated-by-the-last-sorceress-so-we'll-do-anything-you-want-just-please-don't-kill-us-all kind of way) she wondered where her loyalties really did lie. Obviously with Timber, which she still vowed to liberate, albeit in a slightly more clandestine way because she had to be impartial now. And of course to her friends, because she loved them. Except. They were SeeD, and lived in and worked for Garden, so did that mean she was loyal to Garden? Would she use her powers to defend Garden, or to attack an organisation that opposed Garden?

It was a tricky situation, and it certainly wasn't overlooked by the cadets and faculty members, where her presence drew equal amounts of intrigue and unrest alike. Garden's purpose was to subdue sorceresses, so it made no sense that their target lived, ate and slept under the same roof as the cadets that were being trained to kill her.

In fact, it kind of messed her up to think about. All the training Squall had been through, and Quistis and Zell for that matter, all the techniques and drills and battle skills… They were all developed as a means to destroy sorceresses. All the other missions were just ways to fund Garden and build a positive repertoire. Their main mission was, ultimately, to kill her.

Yet it was wild jabs in the dark because, in all honesty, nobody knew much about sorceresses or their power. They had histories to refer to and knew they were adept magic wielders that varied massively in expertise, but that was it. After all, they'd sent a sniper after Edea and for some reason hadn't considered that she might be able to block bullets with a basic shield. That lack of foresight could have been their undoing, if not for the fact they were trained to smoothly adapt to such situations.

In the end, it was Garden's ignorance that saved Squall's position as commander.

Not a few days after her return from the second of seven agreed sessions with Doctor Odine, Rinoa was lingering outside of Squall's office, eavesdropping. She hadn't intended to eavesdrop, but she reasoned that some of the most crucial intel was gained by loitering in convenient places at convenient times and staying very quiet.

Squall, Xu and Quistis were arguing. About her.

"It's a delicate situation, both politically and emotionally," Quistis was saying in that soothing but firm tone she used when playing the pacifier, which she did a lot. "We're very attached to Rinoa –"

"Not my problem." Xu. Sharp, remorseless, rule-abiding, newly appointed Head Mistress Xu, who didn't really like Rinoa and definitely didn't approve of her being in Garden. "I don't care what you all do in your personal time. But having Rinoa physically residing in Garden is a conflict of interests. She's already gained an irrevocable understanding of the daily running of Garden and the training of our cadets, which in turn lends her an advantage if she ever turns against us."

Rinoa winced. Seemed like everyone and the neighbour's dog was expecting her to 'turn', as they so tactfully phrased. It hurt to hear it, because what it boiled down to, quite simply, was this: everyone was afraid of her. She hated that. She hated being feared. Worse, the fear derived not from her actions but from those of past sorceresses. She could shake that ingrained suspicion no more than she could change her genetics; she had to live with it. But she didn't have to like it.

"She's not going to." Squall. His tone was level but abrupt; a threat simmering unspoken beneath the surface.

"This lack of professionalism is unacceptable," Xu said. "Now the true purpose of SeeD has been revealed and Ultimecia is dead, the world governments rely on us to neutralise any potential sorceress threat, and to them Rinoa is a threat, albeit a dormant one. Worse still, she's been mistaken as a spokesperson for Garden. People are saying that she's manipulating you to control Garden, her greatest threat, and once SeeD is subjugated there'll be no one left to apprehend her if things go south in a hurry. Galbadia, Esthar – even Trabia – are all demanding she be handed into their respective custodies for proper confinement and observation."

"That's not going to happen," Squall said.

"Personal reasons aside," Quistis added, "their alleged reason for apprehending Rinoa, their fear, is a pretence. Whoever holds Rinoa has the potential to use her as weapon, or a shield. Nobody would dare invade a country that has a sorceress; they're quarrelling over a prospective trump card. Plus it's no secret that the military hates Garden. They couldn't bear to see us have any more fire power than we already do."

"Garden is and always will be politically neutral. She's safest here," Squall said with heavy finality. "She's not leaving."

Xu huffed in frustration. "Then what do you suggest? What will you tell the armies when they turn up at our front door trying to take Rinoa by force?"

"It won't come to that," Squall said. "We're going to tell them that she's Garden's responsibility and therefore she's under Garden's indefinite supervision. Keeping our enemy close, so to speak. We have the best facilities to contain her – "

"Except we don't."

"You have me," he said, again with that rumbling finality. "I am the only one who has any influence over what Rinoa does. And I'm speaking independently of Garden, here."

"You _can't_ speak independently from Garden," Xu snapped. "You're Commander. You're the face of Garden."

"So what do you want me to do? Step down from my position?"

"Squall!" Quistis gasped.

There was a pregnant pause, and Rinoa seized the moment to intervene. All eyes guiltily slid to her as she dramatically (perhaps a tad too dramatically, but hey, she was a sorceress) threw aside the doors and barrelled inside.

"I'll let you study me!" she declared breathlessly.

The three stared at her. She shifted her weight and gripped her arm, a little uncertainly. "Um, I mean. That's what Garden is here for, right? To suppress sorceresses? Well. You can't fight a sorceress if you don't know how."

"We have over a hundred cadets trained to expert levels in a multitude of different combat styles," Xu seethed. "We can manage."

"But," Rinoa said, tilting her head thoughtfully. "What if I'm different? Also, I might not be the only sorceress in the world – what if there are others? What if they appear from a different time? This would give SeeD an opportunity to learn how to fight a sorceress first hand. I mean, I'm not very good at fighting and I don't really have any sorceress powers… but I'd be happy to share any information I acquire with SeeD." She looked at Squall. "I don't want to hurt anyone and I can't predict the future. What if something does happen?"

"Nothing is going –"

"But what if it _does_ ," Rinoa insisted. "What if I… What if the powers consume me and I become someone else – or something else? And I become powerful and hurt people? I wouldn't want that. I'd want someone to stop me. Whether that's you or SeeD, I don't care. Just think of the destruction Adel and Ultimecia caused: thousands and thousands of people died, whole nations were uprooted and entire civilisations wiped out before anyone could stop them. So…" She hesitated, then nodded at Xu. "I'd like to continue to live at Garden, to be with Squall, if that's okay. And in return I'll do whatever you want to strengthen SeeD."

Quistis glanced between Squall and Xu, then back to Rinoa. She looked sad. "Rinoa, people will become attached to you. One of the ways Garden teaches students to deal with face-to-face combat is to disassociate oneself. In other words: to stop viewing your enemy as a person. If one day you did turn, SeeD might find it difficult to… contain you." She sighed and brushed her blonde bangs behind her ears. "What I'm saying is, if you stay here, it might be best for you to remain somewhat… isolated. To be considered a test subject."

Squall whirled on her, expression taut with rage. "Like a monster? Like a Grat in the Training Center?"

"It's okay, Squall." Rinoa stepped forward; a brave volunteer. "If that's what it takes to stay in Garnde, then I'll do it."

* * *

"As if Squall would let Xu kick you out," Selphie jeered a few hours later. "I literally think he would've murdered her and covered the whole thing up with some crazy conspiracy, like a portal to another dimension just opened up and - ZAP! – totally swallowed her whole."

Rinoa wrinkled her nose. "Don't say that. Squall wouldn't murder her. And also people would just say that _I_ opened the portal to the other dimension, and then I'd be framed as an accessory to murder." She paused. "Squall wouldn't do that though, right? Murder Xu?"

Selphie batted her eyelashes and leaned close to Rinoa's face, because for some reason SeeD had neglected to teach Selphie about spacial awareness. "He'd do anything for you, Rin. He's your knight in shining armour!"

"Fur trimmed leather, more like," she giggled as she batted the overzealous girl into a more reasonable distance. "But anyway, I'm glad I get to be with him."

Selphie leaned back into the excessive pile of cushions Rinoa had drowned Squall's bed with, and snared one of Rinoa's giant cuddly chocobos in a choke hold. She'd let Rinoa style her hair into two braids, but they stuck out almost horizontally from her head and made her look a bit psychotic. Then again, Rinoa thought, when _didn't_ Selphie look psychotic?

"Do you think you'll be happy in Garden?" Selphie asked.

Rinoa blinked, then peered around the room as if considering it for the first time. It had taken some persuading, but Squall had eventually agreed to move into the commander's delegated dorm room, which was military talk for the penthouse suite. Initially he had declined because firstly: he liked being alone and wasn't used to the idea of having a girlfriend, and secondly: because even though the student body loved him, it was still a little weird that their commander was openly dating Number One Enemy Uno Alpha, Sorceress Rinoa. Emphasis on 'sorceress'.

The room had its own kitchenette and dining table, a double bed and two built in wardrobes (one for her shoes and the other for her clothes; Squall resignedly folded his clothes into neat piles under the bed) a balcony, a plasma TV, and a nice walk-in shower. Sure, it wasn't the standard she was used to, and it definitely needed a feminine touch, but it was liveable.

The problem was -

"I have to be extra careful when it comes to aligning myself politically. Like, right now SeeD has been hired to help liberate Timber, so I can't help them anymore." She pouted and snatched up a stray moogle plush for comfort. "I hate that. Squall says Galbadia might see it as Sorceress and SeeD fighting alongside each other to oppose Galbadia. But it's nothing to do with me being a sorceress or whatever! I just want to free Timber. So now I have to be diplomatic about it and attend functions and make anonymous charity donations, which isn't the same as… as…"

"Scaling moving trains to abduct the president of Deling?" Selphie said cheerfully.

Rinoa buried her face into the moogle's pompom and mumbled a lacklustre agreement. "What's the point of being a sorceress if I can't do anything?"

Selphie patted her on the back. "Aw, it's okay, Rin. Y'know I'm all for blowing stuff up, but sometimes the situation requires a more covert approach until an opportunity presents itself."

"Spoken like a SeeD," Rinoa said grudgingly.

"What I'm tryin' to say is: you'll get what you want in the end. You just gotta be patient, okay? Everyone's expecting you to go crazy." She waved a hand. "Crazier, I mean. Like time-compression crazy rather than just standard I-dated-Seifer-Almasy crazy."

"Hey!"

"So just… play it cool. As Irvine would say." She cocked her head and threw a glance towards the corner of the room. "I mean, let's get basic life stuff sorted first. Like, you can't even take care of a plant! Poor Mr Stalks is dead already!"

Rinoa followed her gaze to the house plant in the corner of the room, which was indeed turning brown and sagging. She released an agonised wail. "I can't do _anything_!"

Selphie giggled and threw the chocobo toy at her.

* * *

Honestly, Rinoa didn't mind being Garden's guinea pig. Or Esthar's, for that matter. She certainly wasn't someone to be pressured into anything, but with Esthar there hadn't been much of a choice. They were still very sore over the fact that Commander Squall Leonhart – recently revealed son of President Loire which was definitely not a subject up for discussion anytime soon – broke into a high security detainment facility and busted out the sorceress they were trying to cryogenically freeze and launch into outer space. Esthar didn't like her. Esthar didn't trust her. And she couldn't blame them, because it had only been eighteen years since Adel had ravaged the city, and then there had been Ultimecia. So yeah.

Most importantly, she genuinely wanted to learn more about her powers and to help others understand them, so there really was no question involved in volunteering her services to Esthar. Plus she felt mildly responsible for the devastation of the city during the last Lunar Cry, which had been wrought by her hand, albeit her possessed hand. So it was more a gesture of peace and submission, to prove that she really wasn't that bad. Also it created good political ties with Esthar and she wanted to get to know Laguna more. Potential-father-in-law relationship aside, if she wanted to be any kind of figurehead in politics, Esthar was as good a place as any to start. And, somewhat unfortunately, Doctor Odine was perhaps the only expert in sorceresses that lived.

But while Odine was more interested in the source of her magic and how he might manipulate it for his own perverse uses (which she pointedly refused to think about), Garden was more interested in stopping her powers. From what Xu had briefly divulged during her pre-assessment briefing yesterday, Rinoa was expected to demonstrate her magic, while SeeD worked out ways to counter and suppress it using sharp things, blunt things, magic and probably GFs.

 _Yep. Great. Can't wait for that._

The problem was Rinoa hadn't picked up a weapon since the war. She wasn't a physical fighter, not really. She preferred to fight using dramatic stunts and dynamic proclamations, and the occasional defacing of a propaganda poster with spray paint. In fact, she was pretty sure her first sparring match against SeeD was going to be the briefest and most anticlimactic battle in all of history. Definitely not a defining moment for Team Sorceress.

So she'd dusted off her Shooting Star, called Angelo, and taken off to the Training Centre under the cover of night, when imposed curfew saw that the halls were deserted bar the newly-reformed Disciplinary Committee and faculty members, who patrolled the halls looking for rule breakers.

But Rinoa wasn't part of Garden and the commander was her boyfriend, so they couldn't tell her what to do.

Now, standing inside the entrance of the Training Centre, she was crippled by the sensation of being alone. Angelo looked up at her and whined, tuned to the subtle nuances of her master's emotion. Rinoa reached down and patted her head.

"It's okay, girl. We're just gonna do some training. I've gotten rusty and you're getting podgy."

Angelo sneezed and wagged her tail a few times. Rinoa took that as a sort of agreement.

"Well, c'mon then. Guess we better start before Squall gets back. Whenever that'll be…"

Being commander meant Squall had to take on a huge range of responsibilities that Rinoa bet he hadn't anticipated, or even been aware of, pre-command. In fact, Garden was an administrative nightmare courtesy of Cid, so Squall had to hire two secretaries and work overtime to get it sorted, and it still wasn't up to date. He once said he had no idea how Garden had even functioned running under Cid's administration. Apparently one filing cabinet had racks and racks of old mission reports, which had been filed under their respective headings of: Not Important, Quite Important, Important, Mega Urgent, and Could Cause War. And, Squall hastened to add, most of the files hadn't even been locked away; they'd just sitting in Cid's office where anyone could rifle through them, like a stack of old magazines.

So to summarise: Squall worked a lot and Rinoa didn't get to see him half as much as she would have liked, except to bring him coffee and the odd occasion when she appealed to his carnal needs and lured him to bed for a few hours. And even that took a lot of work, because he had a lot of work.

Anyway, she reckoned she had a good few hours before Squall came home, which was a good few hours to polish up her rusty battle skills. She could've asked him to come along, and she knew he'd be mad that she'd ventured off alone, but…

But.

She needed to test something. Because she'd been feeling strange; something she couldn't explain to anyone because it was Sorceress Stuff, and even she didn't know what it was, but she suspected it was going to be something weird and not easily explainable, and besides, she didn't even know if there was anything to explain yet. Just that her instincts were tingling. Or maybe that was the magic.

 _Only one way to find out._

Garden had nurtured a miniature jungle in the grounds of the Training Centre, separated from sane society by huge walls rimmed with lights that pulsated softly in the darkness above the treeline. The top was electrified too, in case any of the specially bred and imported T-Rexuars decided to get out and cause havoc in nearby Balamb. The wall made Rinoa feel uneasy, like she was being funnelled in a particular direction; like she was trapped.

At night, the Training Centre was undeniably scary. The monsters were more active at night, and the T-Rexuars could be heard in the distance calling to one another: drawn out wails and bird-like barks that woke the primitive part of her mind and stirred the hairs on the back of her neck. The leaves rustled in a chill breeze and shadows shifted among the branches. Critters snuffled around tree roots and somewhere nearby an owl hooted. It reminded her of the Forest Owls, and she suddenly felt acutely homesick and stupid for wandering around alone in a monster infested cage at night.

Angelo whined and pawed her leg, and Rinoa smiled down at her. "Right, I'm not alone. I have you, don't I, girl?"

They walked further into the Training Centre, into the darkness, that was broken only by a few solar powered lights that were dimming as the night progressed, casting thin sheets of pale light through a patchwork of flora. The sky was obscured by heavy clouds and it began to rain. Soon Rinoa's hair was soaked and water trailed in rivets down her scalp and neck, turning her gym gear into a sticky second skin. But it also teased out the rich scent of wet earth and drummed a simple tune in the darkness, and for the first time since coming to Garden, she felt at peace. More peaceful than she felt with her friends in the cafeteria, maybe even more so than laying in Squall's arms. But why?

She was startled from her thoughts when a swarm of Bite Bugs exploded from the undergrowth and launched at her, no doubt alarmed by her presence. Their buzzing worked in harmony with the rain, almost deafening. She spread her legs and raised her weapon in a defensive stance, but the Bite Bugs just flew past her, completely unbothered.

After an uncertain moment, Rinoa lowered her weapon. "Huh."

She carried on walking. Sometimes she heard the clacking of the Bugs' carapaces. Other times she heard the chittering of Grats. She passed a small pod of them, in fact. They were eating the damp moss off the base of a tree. One turned its leafy tentacles towards her and shook them, as if trying to figure out what she was, but none showed signs of aggression. Rinoa stood nearby, baffled, then carried on walking. At one point a baby Bite Bug hovered alongside her for a while, dancing in and out of the brush almost playfully, before disappearing into the canopy. Amongst the vines and tree trunks, a giant Malboro, one of the new imports, shuffled in the darkness. Its green tentacles were slick with rain and several of its bulbous eyes swivelled to stare at Rinoa, but it remained where it was, more concerned with rooting around in the wet soil for Bug grubs. It made odd little noises as it did so, alien to Rinoa, who had only ever encountered them when they were in the throes of territorial rage. Now it seemed like any another animal, minding its business.

The trees thinned and Rinoa entered a small clearing, rimmed on one side by a babbling brook. Without the cover of the canopy the rain pummelled her skin and hammered the brook's surface, creating a thousand ripples and a thunderous melody. Rinoa stared at her warped reflection. Then she looked at her hands. She felt like she wanted to cry, but she wasn't sure why.

 _I feel… different._

She heard it before she saw it, snorting indelicately in the undergrowth, snapping branches as it barrelled heedlessly through the trees. The ground shook and a low, rumbling growl cut through the chorus of rainfall.

Slowly, Rinoa turned and looked at the T-Rexaur. It towered over her, a huge female specimen, its great barrel of a chest heaving in and out as it breathed. It lowered its torso and turned its head to get a good look at her with an impossibly huge amber eye. Its nostrils flared and it grunted, expelling thick plumes of vapour that whirled in the ethereal light of the solar lamps.

She'd faced these beasts many times during the war, fighting alongside her friends, and back then a confrontation filled her with sickly dread. They could easily kill in a single bite; their heads the size of small cars and their tails as long a classroom from base to tip. Truly a frightful foe; Rinoa had hardly believed Garden kept them confined for training purposes.

But now? She felt nothing. Something had changed. She looked at it not with fear but with understanding. She saw them not as foe but as… As what?

She stared up at the T-Rexuar and lifted her hand. Behind her, Angelo whimpered but did not run. The T-Rexuar took a thunderous step forward, clawed toes sinking into the mud with an unappetising slurp. It sniffed loudly, head growing so close she could discern the scars crisscrossed over its snout, and the ice-burns along its flank, and the cloudy cataract forming over one of its eyes; old wounds from battles it had managed to escape from, or been spared from, because T-Rexuars didn't come cheap.

 _Trapped here_ , she thought. _Forced to fight. Walking round and round this little centre, fighting little men, until it dies._

The rain splattered against its muzzle and she felt its hot breath unfurl along her arm, smelt the rancid stink of rotten meat, saw yellow scale on teeth as thick as her fist. Her hand looked so frail by comparison, trembling as she reached out, her fingers almost brushing its hide –

It straightened abruptly and its head swivelled to one side, distracted by the call of another T-Rexuar somewhere in the brush. It barked once, twice, and then it stalked away into the undergrowth, almost whipping Rinoa with its tail, earth trembling beneath it great bulk, until it disappeared into shadow.

Rinoa was left alone in its wake, like a pale wraith in the night. After a moment, the other monsters came out from where they'd been hiding from the great predator, and returned to the drinking hole, paying no mind to the wet girl and her wet dog.

Rinoa stared after the T-Rexaur, then looked down at her hands. _What have I become?_

* * *

Squall was roused from his own hellish version of time compression (a perpetual state of signing his name onto endless wads of paper) by a rather flustered looking Quistis. She needlessly saluted (as an afterthought because she'd barrelled into his office without knocking anyway), then wrapped her arms around herself to regain her composure.

"What is it?" Squall asked.

"It's Rinoa," she said simply. "She's sick."

Squall frowned and tried to repress an upsurge of emotion. Repressing emotion was a force of habit, and if he was honest it was still unsettling how just the mention of Rinoa caused such an intense flare of furious passion inside of him. He wasn't used to it at all.

Squall stared at Quistis, and knowing him as well as she did (or thought she did), she continued without verbal prompting.

"Zell found her wandering the halls in the early hours of this morning with Angelo, not far from the Training Centre." She paused. "She was out of it, seemed disorientated, and soaked to the skin. Freezing. She'd obviously… been out all night."

"Concussion?" Squall asked, then what she said sank in. "Wait, she was in the Training Centre by herself?"

"She was armed," Quistis confirmed. "No signs of external injury."

Squall abandoned his paperwork and stood up. "Any residual magic?"

"Well, it's hard to tell what with her being a sorceress. Are you going?"

Squall didn't answer; he was already halfway out the office before she finished the question anyway. Quistis trailed in his wake. He hit the button on the elevator then waited with his arms crossed. His concerns hatched uneasy thoughts across his mind. "Did any of the Garden Faculty see her? Where is she now?"

"Zell took her straight to the Medi Centre. He was questioned by the on duty faculty on the way because he practically had to carry Rinoa, and he told them she'd stumbled on a tree root and hit her head while they'd been jogging in the Training Centre. Luckily he was in his training gear too, but they'll probably put two and two together because Rinoa was wet from the rain and he wasn't."

"Any of the students see her?"

"No. But… you know how word spreads in Garden."

Squall tapped a finger against his bicep. "Tell people they were sparring, not jogging. And when Rinoa tried to cast a status ailment on Zell he retaliated with a Reflect. Rinoa was affected, but neither of them had Remedies. Zell lied because he was embarrassed by his lack of prep. Took her straight to the Medi Centre to fix her up in hopes I wouldn't notice."

Quistis nodded. "Understood."

The best way to deal with these things was to spread a false rumour. Zell wouldn't mind; he'd take a bullet for Rinoa, Squall knew that. So Quistis would tell someone in the Library, and they would tell a Card Club member, and they would tell the guy that ran laps in the hallways, and so on and so forth. It would undoubtedly become twisted along the way, but Squall suspected it would remain mundane in light of whatever the truth was, because the truth, Squall feared, had something to do with Rinoa's powers.

Squall went straight to the Medical Centre, unfortunately under the curious eyes of the student body who had amassed in the hallways and corridors on their way to morning class. But that didn't matter. If Rinoa had been injured it was expected that he would visit her.

She was sitting on a bed in a private room in Doctor Kadowaki's surgery when Squall arrived, currently under the administrations of said doctor. Angelo sat patiently beside the bed, ever watchful. Rinoa was wrapped in a thick blanket and showed signs of recently being dried off. There was a glint of apprehension and guilt in her eyes when Squall entered the room, and she offered him a cautious smile. "Are you mad at me?"

Squall felt a dizzying rush of relief. But he still frowned at her stonily, because he was kind of mad too.

"What were you doing alone in the Training Centre after hours?"

She winced. "Um… training?"

"Alone. In the dark."

"I had Angelo!" Rinoa defended primly. "Also I can look after myself."

He gave her a once over. There were dark rings under her eyes and she looked pasty. "Can you?"

Rinoa frowned, but before she could argue Doctor Kadowaki intervened.

"Well, she's shown no signs of physical or magic induced trauma. Completely unscathed. No signs of hypothermia either; all vitals normal. My clinical diagnosis would be that she's wet and tired."

Squall frowned at her. _This isn't a joke_. "What happened then?"

"I was just tired," Rinoa said, waving a hand dismissively. "I was training for hours…" She frowned as if realising something, then jabbed a finger at him accusingly . "Hey, did that mean you didn't come home at all last night? So you can't criticise me, mister!"

Squall was mortified by the pang of guilt her accusation elicited. If he had come home he would have noticed she was missing. That was his job, right? To take care of his sorceress – no, his girlfriend. But he'd chosen to finish paperwork instead and just assumed she was fine. SeeDs should never assume. Assuming could lead to death.

He placed a hand on his hip and looked at the floor. "Sorry."

Rinoa's expression softened. "It's okay. I'm fine. I guess I… overexerted myself."

For a moment he was floundering in those unfamiliar emotions she so deftly provoked, and that familiar spectre returned to agitate his deepest fears: _what if she disappears? What if she leaves me? What if she dies and I'm alone again?_

 _You have to be more careful, Rinoa. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you. I love you._

But the words stuck inside him like thorny burrs, because old habits die hard. Instead, he just looked at her and said, "Whatever."

* * *

Weeks passed, and Rinoa began to feel more detached from reality. Her powers resonated just under her skin, growing exponentially, consuming her. She was frightened, but the more she tried to suppress them the more she became aware of them, and with the awareness came innate knowledge and, most alarmingly, involuntary manipulation.

Everything was tangible to a sorceress; nothing was private. One day, while speaking to Zell about arranging a surprise dinner for Ma Dinct's fifty-sixth birthday, she inexplicably saw into his mind. She could rifle through his memories and emotions like sorting through fruit at a grocers, picking them up one by one, turning them over and over, identifying the bruises and the rotten and the fresh. It was such a shock that she'd physically reeled backwards and would have fallen if not for Zell's uncanny reflexes.

Seeing into people's minds was not the worst part. With that knowledge came another: not only could she view emotions and memories, but she could manipulate them too; twist them and mould them into something else entirely, so she could break down everything that made them who they were and remake them anew to her own blueprints.

She could _brainwash_ people.

Rinoa had always prided herself on being insightful and intuitive, with natural-born instincts that allowed her to see past the masks people wore and understand what made them tick. But this? It was too much. It was the defilement of something sacred; the worst kind of incursion. So she kept well out of people's heads, and was left feeling slightly hollow, because it made her realise that people – everyone –only showed what was on the very exterior. The distorted surface of a sea that contained a million colourful fish, and shipwrecks, and treasures long buried and forgotten. She was always tempted to undercover it, but she wouldn't. It would be more rewarding to patiently fish for tidbits and allow people to reveal their inner workings gradually, through trust and love and friendship.

She was so frightened by the rapid acceleration of her powers that she hadn't told anybody; not Garden, not Odine, not even Squall. But the lattermost, well… he was difficult to hide things from; he was dangerously perceptive when it came to pretty much everything, but particularly her.

The other day, he'd come home from work early, hunting her out in a driven way that meant he'd missed her. She'd been sitting on the couch reading about the origins of Magic Stones, with a mug of coffee on the side table. She'd recently discovered that she was telekinetic, and had been trying master the art of subtle movements (whereas before she had been wantonly flinging large objects across the apartment that had led to a number of complaints from the neighbours). When he walked in the spoon in her coffee cup was going round and round, gently stirring its contents, and she'd entirely forgotten. Squall cut off mid-conversation when he noticed, and by the time Rinoa clapped a hand over the top of the mug to make it stop it was too late. But Squall was so confused by what he'd seen he didn't really question it, probably just rationalised it in his mind, because he didn't think Rinoa could even do something like that.

It was time to tell him. Although she didn't want to. There was no going back from it, once she did. She would have to admit what she'd become, and he'd realise she wasn't… wasn't…

She couldn't say it.

* * *

They went together to Grandidi Forest to hunt for Precious Stones. This was actually what Squall liked to do in his spare time, because the monsters in the Training Centre couldn't stand up to him anymore, and he could leave under the pretence of benefiting Garden by acquiring supplies. Usually they would go in teams of three or six, because Grandidi Forest was a terrifying place full of old magicks and old monsters. And it was easy to get lost. But no one questioned the abandonment of protocol when they left alone together. Quistis unhelpfully classed it as 'sorceress and knight bonding'. Well, she wasn't exactly wrong.

Grandidi Forest was an gigantic ecosystem encased in a bubble of suffocating humidity and heat; it lay across the skin with palpable invasiveness; Rinoa felt like she couldn't breathe. After just fifteen minutes of trekking she was sticky with sweat that itched her scalp and made her shorts and tank rub murderously.

The trees here were old, soaring above them and blocking the daylight with impenetrable canopies of wide, rubbery leaves. It was raining, but that was no relief from the heat. The moisture summoned frogs and insects and monsters, and they sang and hooted unseen from the undergrowth, utterly deafening. Rinoa watched a gargantuan python uncurl from around the trunk of a tree. Its head was larger than hers, its body almost as thick as the tree's trunk, but it showed no signs of being hostile as it flicked its tongue indifferently before slithering into the thicket of leaves above.

They trekked in silence through the undergrowth, too weighed down by the climate and exercise to speak. Squall hacked away at overhanging branches and vines with his gunblade, always alert, always attentive to her needs as he offered a hand to help her over a small stream or pull her up a ragged incline.

For Rinoa's part, she was buzzing. Grandidi was an ancient place and the sorceress part of her resonated with the pockets of old magic that lingered in the twisted branches and fertile earth. She felt strange here, almost at home, and she felt a distinct feeling of despair and defeat as she stopped at the foot of a thousand year old tree.

This place was for people like her. Creatures like her. She was humbled and frightened beneath the history and weight of her powers; of what she was. What she'd become.

"Rinoa?"

Unbidden, her powers began to leak out of her and into the earth. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The ancient forest responded, unfurling tendrils of its own magic, and she let them wash over her. The feeling almost bringing her to her knees. The world seemed to hush around her, and from the brush monsters came to watch, shifting just outside the clearing, drawn by her magic.

Great, old Malboros lazily blinked their eyes at her, wheezing out clouds of noxious fumes. Small flocks of cockatrices chittered amongst themselves and ruffled their bright plumage. And the bones of undead men clacked from the shadows; cursed ones, hollow things animated by dark magicks.

Rinoa turned away from the tree and looked at Squall. He had raised his gunblade in anticipation of an attack, but it was lowered now, the tip touching the forest floor as he stared around at the quiet, watchful monsters. His expression was wrought with confusion.

Rinoa raised her arms and, unbidden, tears rolled down her cheeks. "See? This is what I am now. This is who I am." She let her arms fall limply by her sides. "I'm a monster."

Squall's attention was wholly on her now. The monsters shifted around them, dispersing slowly back into the undergrowth. The rain filtered through the leaves and pattered against the floor. The insects droned on, oblivious.

Then Squall cast aside his gunblade and crossed the clearing in long, powerful strides. His eyes were fixed on hers with such intensity that she almost recoiled from him in fear, if not for the single thought that rocketed between them and smashed into the walls limiting their bond with such force that they shattered completely.

 _(I don't care.)_

He kissed her so hard that her knees buckled. He lowered her onto the forest floor between the roots of the giant tree, where the ground wore a coat of moss and mushrooms and wet leaves.

 _(Do you understand?)_

He undressed her with such single-minded intensity that she could only let him, stunned as she was beneath the physical and mental rush of his emotion crashing into her mind, strong and pounding and certain. He tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it negligently aside.

 _(I don't care about any of that.)_

He spread her legs and took her on the forest floor. She clasped a root with one hand and his sweat-slick back with the other, as the remains of the walls limiting their link were demolished.

 _(I love you.)_

The magic and the rain and the trees whispered around them. She thought she could hear the voices of Old, the remnants of Hyne, speaking in languages long dead and sacred. Her magic began to resonate, and the leaves shifted in an unseen breeze, and the rain stopped falling mid-air, and green shoots poked through the earth and unfurled delicate ferns and petals, and cocoons erupted from branches and burst apart into bright butterflies. She clung to Squall helplessly as he kissed her again, and distinctly felt the magic thatch a bridge between the gap in their minds as they moved in unison and she felt his end drawing near.

 _(I am your knight.)_

And in that moment, it really was that simple.


	2. Monsters

Second and final part of this mini-fic. My favourite part, 'cause it has my fave character in :3 Thank you for the reviews.

* * *

 **Rorshach**

* * *

 _'All the hate coming out from a generation_  
 _Who got everything and nothing, guided by temptation_  
 _Were we born to abuse, shoot a gun and run_  
 _Or has something deep inside of us come undone?_  
 _Is it a human trait, or is it learned behaviour_  
 _Are you killing for yourself, or killing for your savior?'_  
'Savages' – Marina and the Diamonds

* * *

 _\- Part 2:_ Monsters -

It began when she found an unmarked file on Squall's bedside table, and when curiosity got the better of her, as it inevitably did when it came to Rinoa.

Files on Squall's bedside table certainly weren't an unusual occurrence. As much as she berated him for it, he often took his work home to study difficult cases just before bed. She usually managed to coax him away using shameless girlfriend tactics, but nonetheless it irked her that there seemed to be no barrier in Squall's mind separating work time and recreation time, and she was pretty sure the only thing Squall qualified as 'recreation' was training. Which was understandable to an extent, as he did live and work under the same roof, but Rinoa would have liked to fall into the latter category, considering she was his girlfriend and everything…

Anyway. Nothing particularly out of the norm here. But this file… This file was different. It was _unmarked_. Unlabelled. That was weird, because Squall was perhaps the most banally methodical human being on the planet. Where her side of the bedroom looked like a glitter grenade had exploded and left a war zone of fashion magazines, nail varnish, hairbands, discarded clothes and stuffed toys, his side was immaculate. Spotless. Insultingly military. In other words, Squall would never leave a file unmarked. Doing so could possibly instigate some kind of breakdown in his tidy, pristine Squall-mind.

The file caught Rinoa's eye while she was (reluctantly) cleaning her side of the bed one day. It was early morning; she was about to go for a jog and Squall was in the shower, and the single, thin file was sitting innocuously on his bedside table.

Thoughts of things like client and student confidentiality and general privacy invasion did cross her mind, and while they were fleeting sentiments at best, it was enough to cause some hesitation before she lifted the front of the paper file and looked inside, but evidently not enough to stop her.

Maps. There were maps inside. Maps of every major city, town and small settlement. Notes had been scribbled on the side in red pen; nothing notable, mind. But some had huge red crosses right across the maps and 'NOT HERE' scrawled alongside them. Rinoa frowned. What was Squall looking for?

She flicked through a few more maps and found several of Deling City. She recognised the districts. Squall had circled several neighbourhoods and question-marked several more. At the back of the file there were reports from an external espionage company. Why was Squall using agents that operated outside of Garden?

She leaned over to read the reports, but was stopped short by a whip-snap of annoyance across the Bond. She didn't need to turn around to know what had caused it.

"You don't need to clean up my stuff."

Rinoa turned around and tittered sheepishly. Caught red-handed. It was useless hiding anything from Squall. She wondered why he'd bothered to supply her with the alibi of cleaning. Perhaps because he didn't want to be questioned on the subject. But why?

"Oh, um. Sorry. I just wondered what was so important that you had to take it home with you." She laced her tone with subtle accusation as a crude diversion tactic.

He grunted, but chose not to rise to her baiting. "It's a… personal project of mine."

She waited patiently for elaboration, and he surrendered with a sigh.

"I'll tell you later, okay? When I know more."

 _Good enough_. "Okay. Don't keep secrets from me though. You know I'll just find out anyway." He gave her a look and she waved her hands. "I meant with by uber detective skills. Not the sorceress stuff."

That won her a small smile and he disappeared back into the bathroom to get dressed.

Her gaze lingered on the file a moment longer. A phrase Squall had scribbled across one of the reports burned in her mind.

 **Article 20; Line 162: 'Sometimes it is best to hide in plain sight'**

* * *

The flight to Deling City was an uneasy one. Xu was fuming over the fact Rinoa was there at all, and was once again making use of Garden's private jet (she hadn't been best pleased to discover Rinoa had been using it for shopping trips to Timber), but Squall insisted that she couldn't very well take a separate plane and he wanted to keep her close during such an important political event. Xu pointed out that in doing so he reinforced the public's much misconstrued opinion of Rinoa being a delegate of Garden, especially considering the fact she was travelling in their plane with its Headmistress and Commander on the way to a public affair that definitely did not and should not involve any kind of sorceress.

 _Well, tough luck_ , Rinoa thought savagely. _Because I think it's a good idea and Squall agrees._

Even though the war had ended, tension was yet to disperse between the Gardens, solely Galbadia and Balamb, and the nations didn't fancy being caught in the middle of any conflict between them. So a truce and ceasefire was arranged indefinitely: The Olive Contract. It stated that the Gardens would never again be pitted against each other under any circumstance, which included cadets crossing paths during missions, or full scale attacks involving missiles etcetera.

Rinoa thought it was a brilliant idea, but then again she considered any peaceful operation a good idea. And she decided it would be a fantastic opportunity to show her face during the pre and post media scramble to demonstrate she was an advocate of peace and didn't intend to mobilise B-Garden and take over the world any time soon. And because she strived to stay neutral, she intended to make a public donation to the restoration of T-Garden, as the last sorceress blew it up.

The plane trip provided a moment of peace before the chaos in Deling began. On the row of three seats facing Rinoa's sat Squall, who was mulling over the brief that outlined the upcoming meetings. Away from the scrutiny of the public eye, he'd shrugged off the tailored SeeD jacket and now slouched like a true teenager, wearing a plain white t-shirt and black slacks. His expression was so placid she wondered how he dealt with all the fame and responsibility without cracking, and not for the first time she felt a simultaneously rush of protectiveness over her boyfriend and knight, and a rush of hatred towards Cid, for throwing the closest thing he had to a son into a role that should have gone to someone double Squall's years.

In the corners of her mind she could always feel Squall, always hear him, but mostly he lingered in a place just outside the periphery of her thoughts, like the droning of electrics in a bedroom, entirely unnoticed unless consciously acknowledged. Sometimes his thoughts grew loud enough for her detect. Sometimes she was hit by blasts of strong emotion, so palpable as to cause her to question which of them had spawned it. Other times she could hear him – _really_ hear him – when he channelled thoughts into her mind using their newly forged Bond.

He took their Bond in his stride, much as he did with everything else tossed negligently his way, but he made it overtly clear that he did not like her being in his head. She didn't push him either, and allowed him his privacy. It made the moments when he allowed his feelings to cross over their Bond all that more special, anyway.

Feeling playful, she prodded him over the Bond. His thoughts were a studious white noise, the kind she recognised from when he was engaged in monotonous office work. Boring, emotionless processing. She prodded him again, and when he glanced up she feigned ignorance, staring out the window at the vast sprawl of urbanisation below, peppered with lights twinkling in the night.

When he went back to reading she opened the Bond and was about to hit him with something evocative and inappropriate, just enough to catch him off guard and maybe leave him a bit ruffled, when something snagged her attention. She frowned.

There was something interfering with their Bond. It fizzled quietly in the background, like static on the radio.

 _What is that?_ She pressed her forehead against the window pane and stared down at Deling City. _Is it coming from down there? It feels… it feels like…_

A sharp twang across the Bond brought her back to focus, and when she looked opposite Squall was worriedly frowning at her.

 _ **What is it?**_ he asked across the Bond.

 **Can you feel that?**

… **No.**

 **Oh.** She frowned out the window again. As they flew further into central Deling, the interference faded. **Don't worry.** **It was probably nothing.**

* * *

For Rinoa, nearly everything in life was double sided. At its simplest? Black and white. Good and evil. Light and dark. But it was far more complicated and certainly never so clear cut. Garden for example: the faculty involved with public relations strenuously portrayed Garden as the polished peak of modern warfare. The cadets were squeaky clean; they were drug tested on a monthly basis, smoking and drinking was not permitted, and at the age of fifteen the girls were obligated to have an implant in their arms to prevent pregnancies. Romance in general was dissuaded, especially between cadets. And the students excelled academically; they couldn't afford not to. Anyone who didn't excel was expelled. It sounded harsh to Rinoa, but Squall explained you couldn't afford to be slow or stupid on the battle field, because being slow and stupid would inevitably get you – and others – killed. Garden was _saving_ them through means of expulsion, he defended.

But then again, Squall was raised in Garden and had been thoroughly brainwashed by it. In particular, Rinoa was somewhat mortified to learn that they were taught sex education at the age of six. Squall said it was because any kind of ignorance was weakness and when they needed to learn a hundred ways to kill a person, suddenly sex seemed comparatively tame. Garden numbed them to things like death and sex and blood because they didn't want an army of teenagers who were distracted by lust, or were squeamish, or got upset over the premature passing of their friends and colleagues. But Rinoa was horrified that Garden so brutally scrubbed away any residue of innocence in its cadets. Because in Garden's eyes, ignorance wasn't the real weakness; innocence was.

Of course, this wasn't portrayed to the public; only the shiny, pristine, athletic, A-grade cadets were ruthlessly paraded as poster children for Garden. People like Quistis, for example. These were people you could depend on, who stood above the mundane masses like gods, golden and powerful and intelligent; the absolute pinnacle of society. You need to deal with a monster infestation? Call SeeD. You need liberate your town from military occupation? Call SeeD. You need a weapon specialist for an assassination? Call SeeD.

The catch? Money. SeeD didn't come cheap. Not unless you knew the right people, anyway. SeeD lingered in the undefined grey area between the public services and military, perhaps set apart from them simply by the fact their services didn't come freely (and that they lacked patriotism, morals and decency, as her father liked to scathingly remind her).

And so Garden unintentionally spawned a dark side. There was a gap in the market: people needed people dead, and those people didn't have money, and they couldn't go to public services or the military, and they didn't want to get their hands dirty. So cheap alternatives cropped up all over the globe. Illegal mercenary groups that worked in exchange for cash or drugs or sex or power. Like Garden, they were politically neutral and fickle, with not enough ties between them to be classified as 'gangs' in their own right. There only pledge of loyalty was to money. But they killed, oh yes, and they were terribly, terribly dangerous. Albeit with a lack of expertise and finesse that the legal mercs boasted. Perhaps that's what made them so dangerous?

There was a nest of them in Deling City, and they hung out at the Pits; a grubby, stinking arena-slash-bar in Downtown Deling. It was here, on a concrete floor littered with broken glass and splatters of vomit and blood, and sweating men in leather, and shady men with shifty eyes, and drug-addled revellers, and the drunks and the prostitutes, they gathered and they fought. In the pit: a hole in the floor of an abandoned papermill that served as an illicit fighting arena. People gathered on the walkways that were strung up by rusty chains around the factory, or they crowded around the edge of the pit, throwing down abuse and drink and spit with equal gusto.

Two fighters, usually two illegal mercenaries, were pitted against each other is a reckless show of macho. It was advertising of sorts; the winner was probably the man you wanted to hire for your job. The loser could be cannon fodder or a scape goat. Bets flew across the arena and extortionate amounts of money exchanged hands. Fights broke out regularly; people died; stabbed or shot or beaten. And the winner would walk away with perhaps ten thousand Gil in their pockets, depending on the odds or how good they were at cheating.

And it was here Rinoa found herself one night. Alone amongst the savage crowd, ducking underneath sweaty pits and rancid beer breath and thick smoke that carried the sharp tang of something illegal. Past those too drugged to stand, who hunkered in corners and stared through glazed eyes like sick dogs. Past the scantily clad hookers that yelled louder than the men, who brawled and jeered and waved their wads of cash under the betting clerks' noses.

She threaded through them, trying to remain inconspicuous in a conspicuous crowd, wearing tight leather pants and a scuffed shirt and a pair of sunglasses that weren't uncommon here when one wanted to hide the telltale signs of being high. She continued until she came to a space on the crowded walkway, some thirty feet above the ground floor and pit respectively. A good view.

She squinted down at the pair of fighters mingling with the crowd below. Her heart pounded in her chest. She bit her lip and gripped the metal railing with both hands, suddenly feeling a bit light headed.

"Wanna bet?"

The man had crept up on her like a snake. He wore a cheap tie and bowler hat that marked him as a betting clerk. And of course the obligatory black eye. They were everybody's best friend and worst enemy, depending on the odds you'd picked when the results came in.

Rinoa's initial disgust at the whole idea smoothed into mild amusement. She bobbed a shoulder. "Sure. Eight hundred Gil on the one on the left."

"Eight hundred…?" The man blinked at her. Then he smirked. "Heh. You're a risk taker. I like that. The odds ain't good on him. You sure?"

Rinoa smirked. "Make it one thousand."

The man whistled, then laughed, and took the money from her and handed her a ticket. "It's your grave, kiddo."

There was the sound of a bell ringing from the bar, and the crowds surged forward towards the pit. The noise increased. Already people were scuffling, yelling abuse. Money was hurriedly exchanging hands. Tension thickened the air into a heady soup. Down below, somewhere from the throngs, the fighters emerged. They dropped onto the mud packed earth of the pit, shoved by the onlookers. Rinoa squinted down at the pair.

One was a blocky specimen, hair clipped down to his square skull, muscles too large to be natural, crisscrossed with angry looking veins. His jaw was undershot and there was a grisly scar running from his hairline to his right eye. He clenched and unclenched his great fists, jerked his shoulders, barked unintelligibly. To put it shortly: he was distinctively twitchy; he was a Psycho user.

Since residing in Garden, Rinoa had heard tales of Psycho. It was a performance enhancing drug brewed from a concoction of illegally acquired magic and weird chemicals, like bleach and rat poison, that when injected into the body worked as both a steroid and a magic stimulant. It forced the body into a Limit break-esque state, granting the addict a huge boost of strength and power, at the cost of putting immense strain on the body, and of course all the usual side effect of any questionable drug, most notably inexplicable incontinence, fits of rage, hallucinations, madness, and an early death. Squall in particular held the existence of Psycho with deep disdain, disgusted by this 'cheats' way of acquiring strength, as he put it.

This man – The Bull, she heard from somewhere along the walkway – was an obvious Psycho user, and he was high as a kite right now. Cheat or no, Rinoa would have been frightened coming across him in a fight. He probably outweighed her by one hundred pounds of pure muscle and if he managed to get hold her, she didn't doubt he could – and would – break her arm in one of his huge, hammer-like fists. She wondered if they called him the Bull because of his bulk, or because of the way he huffed and snorted, paced restlessly back and forth, rivets of sweat running down his bare back. She heard (again along the walkway) that he was undefeated, and all his opponents had been beaten to near death before his victory was declared.

Any sane person would have put money on him. But then again, she doubted any of them had come across his opponent before. But Rinoa had, oh yes. In fact, she'd known him quite well, once. Known him well enough to know she'd have been a fool to bet against him.

Seifer Almasy was perhaps the polar opposite of the Bull in all respects. He was tall, yes, but he was muscled like a true fighter, lean and fit as any Garden cadet; that hadn't changed. He'd grown a beard, she noted, and his hair was longer, tied into a knot at the base of his skull. Probably in an attempt to conceal his identity. After all, he was the most wanted man on the planet. Because of that she could forgive how he hid among his own kind: the traitors and the murderers and the bullies and the savages. The only people who wouldn't butcher him or hand him to the authorities on the spot.

While the Bull raged and paced and spat meaningless rabble in his face, Seifer stood unfazed with his arms crossed over his bare chest, breathing even. He wore a bored smirk, but his eyes never left his opponent. Rinoa imagined he was already assessing him, looking for weaknesses, strategizing the way Garden had taught him too, both disarming and antagonising his opponent with a brew of confidence and quiet. That's what Squall would have done. Rinoa begrudgingly admitted that he and Seifer probably thought much alike, because that's how Garden had moulded them.

Physically seeing him for the first time since the war summoned a whirlwind of emotions that whipped her so furiously she could barely formulate them into thought. Before she could try, the bell rang again and a great roar went up in the crowd.

The fight had begun.

Testament to his name, the Bull charged forward without preamble, one great arm extended like a horn. Seifer stepped easily aside and the bigger man tumbled past. The Bull turned and lunged at him, swinging his other arm, and Seifer ducked, stepped aside, tried to sweep the Bull's legs out from underneath him with a deftly placed kick, but it only worked to stagger him; he was solid. Too cocky, as usual, Seifer had just expected it to go to plan, and in that moment of surprise the Bull landed a hefty blow to his ribs that knocked him off _his_ feet instead. The crowd bellowed, but of course, Seifer wouldn't allow himself to fall to the floor. Too shameful. Instead he used the momentum of the blow to twirl, regain his footing, just in time to dance past another mindless charge. Seifer rebounded off the wall and used the propulsion to crack his elbow into the Bull's exposed kidney. The crowd's screech of rage chorused the Bull's, and the stocky man reached around to try to grab Seifer while he was within reaching distance. Much to Rinoa's surprise, Seifer didn't try to evade the grab, but allowed himself to be yanked around. The Bull retracted his other arm, a bone-breaking blow aimed at Seifer's face, but the blonde smirked and got him first. Matching him in height, he launched forward and cracked his forehead against the Bull's nose with enough force to save him from the Bull's grip and a punch to the face.

The Bull staggered backwards in a spray of blood. The crowd booed and heckled Seifer; someone threw a glass bottle, aimed at his head, and in a sudden burst of alarm Rinoa involuntarily launched an invisible projectile of magic that deflected it away, where it shattered against the concrete wall of the pit.

Seifer glanced at the bottle in surprise, and that was all the Bull needed. He used his full weight to shunt Seifer against the wall, then repaid Seifer's last hit by cracking him on the jaw with his elbow. The crowd hissed in response, more than a few spectators reaching up to massage their own jaws in sympathy. Seifer sank down the wall a little, no doubt stunned by the severity of the blow, and the Bull seized his chance for an easy victory and raised his great fist again.

But of course, Seifer wasn't an ordinary opponent. After all, he hadn't been an ordinary cadet. He had been exemplary at everything; an exemplary fighter, an exemplary student; a real wonder child, if not for his terrible attitude and delusions of grandeur. But the bottom line was: the Bull had no idea who he was up against.

Years of honed instincts spurred Seifer into movement as he ducked at the last minute. The Bull's blow met not the expected impact of skin and bone, but hard concrete, hard enough to shatter his knuckles. He barely had time to roar in pain before Seifer punched him in the stomach, doubling the bigger man over, then he twirled again, gripped the Bull's head, and rammed it into the concrete. The Bull grunted, staggered, blood dripping from his cracked crown. Seifer finished the job by smashing his knee into his already shattered nose, and the Bull hit the floor unconscious with a shuddering thump.

Seifer had won.

The crowd erupted in a frenzy of volcanic emotion. Fights broke out. Seifer was hailed with rubbish and abuse and money and praise. People cheered and celebrated and screamed their fury to the rafters. The bookies were overrun with people wanting their money, or people disputing their losing bet. Security swarmed over the crowd with practiced familiarity, protecting the bookies and spraying tear gas at those too overzealous.

Rinoa stared down at Seifer, who stood in the middle of the pit quietly triumphant, blood smeared up his cheek. She was buzzing from the adrenalin, her emotions see-sawing between relief and irritation and disgust.

Without warning, he turned and looked directly at her. They stared at each other for a moment, and she thought she felt a press against her mind, though it was fuzzy and strange. Then he turned away, hoisted himself out of the pit, and disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

Rinoa was drawn to a spot in Deling in the same manner as she had been drawn to the Pits. She followed the peculiar trail of magic like a bloodhound, and was inexplicably lured to a small café in the Industrial District. It was here, sitting at a booth in the corner furthest from the window, Seifer was waiting, mulling over a magazine and a mug of black coffee. He was completely unsurprised when she appeared at the table, didn't even bother to look up from the magazine, just made some infuriatingly arrogant gesture for her to sit down – like she needed his damn permission!

She opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to it, flattening the magazine against the table and tapping a page with his index finger.

"I knocked you up."

Whatever she was going to say was shunted right out of her mind. She frowned at him, shut her mouth, and then opened it again. "What?"

"That's the word on the streets nowadays." He started to read from the article. "'Sorceress turns to ex-boyfriend and runaway convict for comfort. While current boyfriend and Commander of SeeD, Squall Leonhart, is working hard to secure peace between Gardens, Sorceress Rinoa holds secret dalliances with her ex-partner, Seifer Almasy, and now a source close to the pair reveals she might be pregnant – but who is the father?'"

Rinoa leaned across the table and snatched the magazine up, scanning the article furiously. "Who said that? Who would even write that? Gods, I hate these stupid gossip magazines. Where do they even get this stuff? Like, who would even say that? As if I would ever come crawling back to _you_."

Seifer gripped his chest and feigned a wince. "Oh, stop, my aching heart can't take it. Think of the baby, Rinoa."

She threw the magazine at him. "Oh, shut up. Why are you reading that stuff anyway? It's a _girl's_ magazine."

Seifer snorted and swept the magazine onto the chair next to him. "It's intel. They couldn't be further from the truth, which means people still have no idea where I am."

Rinoa thought of Squall's scribbles on the maps, the reports. "Unimportant people, maybe."

Seifer stared at her narrowly, then shrugged, and pointed at the paper cup opposite him. "You still like that disgusting chocolate crap?"

Rinoa wilted grumpily. Of course he'd remember something like that. He'd even remembered she liked cinnamon syrup in her mochas; she could smell it from here. Her favourite. "No," she lied. "I'm – I'm not here to have coffee with you! I'm… I'm so… I'm so… mad at you."

He stared at her, then spread his arms on the table top. "And?"

"Well – I – you – I'm so angry with what you did. To me. To everyone. I'm so… _mad_."

He raised his eyebrows. "That's it?"

She felt a wave of rage lift from her belly and expand in her chest; hot and roiling and sickly. The café seemed to darken for a moment and everything went strangely still, as if time itself had ceased in the shadow of Rinoa's fury. The people at the other tables were frozen and pale like corpses, their chatter turning into a strange sort of white noise. She leaned slowly over the table, eyes fixed on his. Her voice seemed to resonate from a different plane. Shadows shifted around her face like black feathers.

" _Don't."_

For a split second the bravado faltered and she glimpsed some semblance of fear, though perhaps not of her, but of a memory. A memory of _Her_. But that slip of emotion was quickly smothered, and he leaned back into the booth, sipped his coffee and shrugged. "Shit, fine. Vent on me, see if I care. I'm here, ain't I? S'wat you wanted, yeah?"

The café went back to normal: light and full of life, and Rinoa straightened and blinked. "What? I, um. I don't know. I guess."

"I didn't go looking for _you_ ," he pointed out. "So. What'dya want? An apology? An explanation?"

Realisation hit like a slap to the face: she had no idea why she was here, or why she'd sought him out in the first place. So she sat down and sipped her mocha and stared moodily at the table top for a few minutes. At length, she said, "I guess I just… wanted to see how you were."

He stared at her with a carefully blank expression, the kind of expression Garden probably taught him to wear, the sort that didn't give anything away. Well, Rinoa was kind of an expert at deciphering blank expressions: she was dating the king of emotional vacancy.

"I'm not checking up on you or anything," she clarified. "Don't get me wrong, I wasn't worried. You can take care of yourself. And I don't expect an apology for… for what you did. Not from someone like you. Because I doubt you're even sorry. And I've learnt enough about Garden and I know enough about you to understand why you did what you did, so I don't need an explanation either."

His blank expression hardened around the edges. "Well, clearly you've got me sussed, Little Miss Perceptive. If you're such an expert on my life then why the fuck are you even here?"

She bit her lip. Truthfully? Maybe it wasn't about him at all. Maybe it was about herself. "I… I think I can…"

"What?"

Rather than telling him, she reached across and felt for the alien, indistinct feeling that flitted around her mind. She found it easily enough, and she tugged it, pushed it, manipulated it.

She didn't realise how much she didn't want it to be true until he confirmed it with a wince and a pained, "Don't do that."

She recoiled in horror, releasing that strange tendril like it had caught fire in her hands. "Oh gods."

He said nothing; just nonchalantly sipped his coffee.

"What is that?" she breathed. " _What is that_?"

He shrugged. "Just leftovers. You know, residual recycled shit."

"What do you mean? Gods, be clear, I have to know, you can't just –"

"Calm down, would you? Fucking Hyne, can't you figure it out? All of you – "he waved his hands ambiguously in the air– "are connected. All stemmed from the same piece of power that lived in Hyne. Like shards of a broken mirror. So it stands to reason that – "

"You are _not_ my Knight," Rinoa seethed.

"No, I'm not," he agreed reasonably. "But I was hers, and you're connected to her, and you have a piece of her power inside you, and so I'm connected to you too. Nothing like… you know." He shrugged. "But it's there, ain't it?" He added sardonically, "Maybe that's why you want to 'see how I am."

Rinoa stared at him with open-mouthed horror. Her vision was going a bit swimmy around the edges. "What does this mean?"

"It doesn't have to mean anything; it is what it is. Just because Ultimecia's dead doesn't mean that the sorceress-knight bond has disappeared; there's still a lot residual magic lingering inside of me."

She eyed him warily. "Like what?"

He looked past her, almost pensively. A very un-Seifer like expression. She wondered how much the war had changed him.

"Just… you know. I don't have a good concept of time nowadays. And my memories are… Like I… Sometimes I see things in the future, or the past, or maybe a different strain of the present or…Well. I can't explain it."

He was lying; he could have explained it perfectly. For some reason she knew that. Probably because of the weird second-hand Bond they had. Like she had with Squall. It made her feel sick to think about it; the very idea that the precious, intimate Bond her and Squall shared could be replicated by someone like _him_. "Try."

His expression sharpened. "Why should I? You've got your own shit to think about."

"Like how I'm a sorceress now?" she countered acidly. "Hm, I wonder whose fault that is?"

"For what it's worth I am… sorry about that. For what I did to you personally." Neither his expression nor tone was contrite, but from across the Bond she could glean the faintest flicker of something akin to remorse. Nowhere near as much as was warranted, and she reckoned he was more sorry about the fact he'd ruined his own chances at a relationship rather than the suffering he'd caused her and countless others.

But it was better than nothing, and more than she'd expected from him. So she sighed testily and waved a hand. She couldn't force regret out of him, but the least she could do was forgive him. She wondered if she would have been so lenient a year ago, before she'd really learned about Garden and Bonded with Squall.

The understanding had blossomed following the first monumental step in her and Squall's relationship: the day she told him out loud for the first time that she loved him. His reaction had been strange, because he'd known anyway that she loved him because of their Bond; but he had been completely thrown off guard. He had just stood there floundering in a well of confusion and alarm and pessimism. And it was then the reality of his upbringing had been exposed: Squall had never been told that he was loved. He'd had no mother or father or siblings, no one to show him unconditional love. Though he'd hate to hear it, Rinoa was overwhelmed with pity for him – for all of them, Seifer included. She treasured the few memories she had of her mother: how she'd held her while she cried after scuffing her knees, reading stories to her at bedtime, telling Rinoa, without prompting, that she loved her. And even though she and Caraway didn't have a great relationship, she knew he loved her, and would always love her no matter what she became or who she was, sorceress or no. And she loved him, in her way, no matter how much of a dick he was sometimes and despite her being loathe to admit it.

So the fact that Squall – and Seifer – had grown up with nothing even akin to unconditional love made her want to cry. They'd had Edea and Cid, but what were they? Detached pseudo mother-father figures and teachers and frightening powers that put guns in their hands and taught them to fight, and erased their memories, and bleached away their innocence and emotional stability. Garden was the only moral guidance they'd had, and with no relations to do proud the pair created their own standards and expectations and relied on nobody but themselves for comfort and strength – because who else was there?

Well, Squall and Seifer had each other. That and Garden were some of the few consistencies throughout their lives. In an odd way, they were like brothers; they were family. So it stood to reason that Squall would worry about him and wonder where he went, and in turn Seifer harboured no resentment regarding Squall's success.

It made Rinoa sad that their choices had drawn them apart. Broken the closest thing to a family they'd ever known.

Seifer was trying to understand what she thinking about across the Bond. She could feel him prodding her in a totally brusque, inconsiderate, arrogant Seifer-way. But their Bond was barely a Bond at all, just smoke drifting in the ether after a forest fire, so she could easily turn him away.

"Seriously, though," he pressed. "What are you doin' here?"

She primly bobbed a shoulder. "Squall's been worried about you."

"Fuck off with that sentimental shit."

"I'm serious."

"Well, you can tell Commander Puberty that I'm just peachy and to mind his fuckin' own."

There was definite annoyance and defiance in his tone, but mostly because Seifer didn't like the thought of anyone checking up on him, least of all Squall. She smiled a little. "I'll be sure to tell him."

Seifer glared at her, then grunted. "Gee, thanks. And while you're at it you can tell him that he's welcome to my sloppy seconds."

She lobbed a sugar packet at him and he caught with his weird Garden reflexes. She wondered why she'd bothered looking for him at all.

* * *

It was understandable that bringing up the subject of Seifer within the Orphanage Gang was difficult; at best it resulted in responses that were explosive, bitter and usually fruitless. Rinoa hadn't known Seifer during his time at Garden, but from what she scrounged through gossip and popular opinion was that he'd reigned as some kind of pseudo head boy and infamous bully. Squall's feelings towards him – which she glimpsed through their Bond – seemed to be an accurate reflection of everyone's opinion: he was respected as a fighter, generally disliked by the student body, instructors and faculty members alike, whom he shunned and provoked, and was generally perceived as some kind of Garden immortal, sitting untouchable above the other students, protected by his own ability to excel at everything (except being nice) and by Cid's misplaced and poorly expressed affection towards his sort of son-pupil. Or whatever the heck Cid thought he was to the students.

Rinoa secretly thought Seifer and Squall would have turned out a lot better if they'd been adopted. Had a normal education. Been raised by people who showed them unconditional love. Had jobs that didn't involve killing people for money. But this is the way the world was, so there you had it. Seifer and Squall both were thoroughly disturbed individuals, even though she was working hard on the latter to get him towards something resembling normal by social standards.

And Seifer? Well. The moment she'd seen him in the Pits, she knew she wasn't going to be rid of him. Wouldn't let herself be rid of him. Would he have willingly disappeared from her line of sight forever? Maybe. He was too proud to seek her out, even if he was a tiny bit sorry, and he never wanted to look like he was crawling back to Garden. Rinoa thought he was far better off away from Garden, anyway.

But the truth was, after everything he'd done, she still liked him. No, not like _that_. Not like that ever again. She loved Squall, and whatever she'd once felt for Seifer (if it had been anything at all) was nothing more than some stupid, girlish whimsy, before the world had shoved her hard into the realms of adulthood and Squall had come along.

But before everything, during the Summer they'd spent together in Deling, she'd really liked him. By the sounds of it, she'd seen something in him that maybe Garden hadn't. Perhaps he'd let his guard down outside of the establishment, and she glimpsed what was underneath all the bravado and bullying that defined him in Garden. Cid had always had faith in him too, always given him chances, but to better his own perverse goals. Seifer had been his burden. Cid had thrown him into the Garden system with gusto, treating him (and Squall) as guinea pigs for his Big Plan. He wanted Seifer to succeed because that meant Garden had succeeded. Plus, Seifer was his responsibility; Seifer couldn't be expelled – where would he go? Garden was more than a school to him: it was home.

Cid aside, Rinoa saw something in Seifer too, and hated to see that potential – the ambition, the passion, the bravery and strength – wasted away just because he'd messed up. Sure, he'd really _really_ messed up, but Rinoa was a firm believer in second chances. He wasn't bad, he was just misguided, and she would get him on the right path even if it killed her. Which, actually, it might do, considering Seifer had just a little bit of crazy running through his veins.

But. Explaining that to the Orphanage Gang? Never going to happen. Technically, Seifer was part of the Orphanage Gang too, and maybe they might forgive him with time, but he wouldn't be welcomed back. Knowing Seifer he would likely spit on any form of welcome, anyway. But regardless, they wouldn't like that Rinoa had made contact with him again.

So. She kept it a secret. Even from Squall, which was hard. She intended to tell him eventually, but it was a difficult subject to broach, and having to explain the weird second-hand Bond they had… Rinoa didn't even want to think about how that would go. Even if he conveyed a front of stubborn teenage apathy, deep down Squall was fiercely protective of Rinoa and proud of their Bond. If he knew that Seifer, of all people, had glimmered an understanding of what they had… he wouldn't be happy.

In the end, the whole issue was taken out of her hands. Not surprising, considering Seifer usually took matters into his own hands anyway.

* * *

The numbers on the flashing digital clock had just tipped over midnight, and Rinoa was wide awake in the dorm room, sitting at the dining room table. There was a shaft of stark light from a lamp behind her, throwing shadows about the room. It was silent, other than the usual whir of Garden's inner flight mechanics.

Rinoa was turning a bangle over and over in her hand. The most recent addition to Doctor Odine's growing magic-suppression armoury. It was designed to suppress her magic, make them inaccessible, and leave her entirely vulnerable.

It didn't work.

And the thing was: Rinoa told him that it had. Yesterday, in Esthar, she'd willingly participated in the experiment. A lab assistant had hooked her up to a bunch of ambiguous machines while men took notes on clipboards and personalogs, and then they'd slapped the bangle on her. 'Bangle' wasn't even the right word any more. It was actually a strip of flexible metal that when applied with force to her limbs would wrap around and secure itself. It then released a constant series of quick-fire pulses to the part of the brain that controlled magic manipulation, and worked as an inhibitor to stop the brain from sending its own pulses which in turn wielded the magic.

Theoretically. Odine wouldn't tell her any more than that, but it didn't matter because it didn't work. For all their fancy machinery, they'd had no idea the state of her magic. So when he asked her to demonstrate a few spells, she pretended she couldn't. Instead, she just released a splutter of blue sparks and a poof of smoke, like a faulty car coughing fumes out of the exhaust. And it had worked. Odine had presumed her magic was suppressed.

So why had she lied? Rinoa was beginning to understand that the world didn't like sorceresses. Understandable. Everyone was expecting her to turn. But what if the world turned on her first? What if Odine suppressed her powers and she couldn't protect herself or, more importantly, the people she loved?

She wouldn't let Esthar get the upper hand.

She was abruptly drawn from her thoughts by an inexplicable ripple of magic. She placed the bangle on the table and frowned at the darkness.

"Squall?"

Her voice was quiet and puny in the dark. The pulse of magic came again. It felt… familiar.

The air in front of her shimmered. She blinked, and in that time the air split; it came apart at some invisible seam, tearing as easily as wet paper. The rip in space opened; one minute she was looking at her apartment and the next she was staring down an alley bathed in early morning light, strewn with litter and dark brickwork streaked with grime and smoke.

And a familiar face.

Seifer fell through the opening and landed on her apartment carpet. Behind him, the tear shuddered, then zipped back up with crackle and a strong tang of coppery magic.

Rinoa blinked down at him in surprise.

He said, "Sorry to drop in on you like this."

She frowned. "Are you trying to be funny? And you're not sorry. You never are."

He rolled onto his back and she realised he was out of breath. "Spare me the lecture," he rasped. "You're my last resort, okay? I wouldn't have… wouldn't have done that if I… if…" He coughed and blood splattered on the cream carpet.

Rinoa was up from her seat in a flash and kneeling at his side. "What happened?"

"Bastard had a knife."

"Who?"

"My opponent. Fucking _cheat_ -"

"Ugh, you and those stupid pit fights. What did you think was going to happen? And why are you here? Go to the hospital!"

He gestured vaguely to his face then his hand flopped heavily down at his side. "You think I'd be layin' here right now if I could? I wouldn't walk outta there a free man –"

"Well, it's as much as you deserve."

"Hyne, turn me in, then!" he snarled. "What are you waitin' for, huh?"

Rinoa hesitated, then sighed. She tucked her hair behind her ears. "Where are you hurt?"

"Stabbed me in my… my chest – " He coughed again, spat up more blood.

She nodded. "Alright. I'll see what I can do. I've been in healing classes so…"

"Just hurry up."

She bristled, then smoothed down her irritation with concentration. Healing was far harder than offensive magic, but she'd been working hard to perfect her techniques because she didn't want to hurt people. And she didn't want to be known as an aggressor. She wanted to be remembered for doing nice things, good things, for helping people. So it made sense that she would focus on her healing abilities. As it turned out, sorceresses were good at that.

She closed her eyes and from behind her lids there was a soft golden glow of magic. She felt for the lifelines that strung Seifer together, and for the damage caused by the knife, and then she began to knit him back together. It was a slow, tiring process.

As the raspy quality of his breathing subsided, she ventured to ask, "How did you do that?"

"Do wha – Oh. The teleporting?"

"Yeah."

"It's pretty simple, actually. I can show you –"

"I know how to teleport," she cut him off tartly. "I mean how can _you_ do it?"

He went quiet, but eventually replied, "She left it in me. The knowledge. I just know."

"Anything else she 'left in you' that I might need to know about?"

He said nothing, and she knew not to push it.

Whether it was coincidence, bad luck or he'd sensed the rise in her magic levels, Squall chose that time to return to their apartment. Rinoa considered shouting out to warn him, but the jolt of fear across their Bond served that purpose. He flicked the light switch on and stood motionless in the doorway for a long minute, eyes coolly assessing the scene.

"Surprise," Seifer said flatly. "Miss me?"

Squall stared at him from a while. His thoughts were fickle across the Bond. Then his gaze turned to Rinoa. The emotion intensified, then sorted itself into one of utter trust. It made her glow with relief.

He said to her, "We'll talk about this later." And to Seifer he said, "I have an hour's free time on Wednesday. Do you wanna spar?"

Seifer looked at him hard for a moment, then snorted and stared at the ceiling.

Rinoa suppressed a grin.

* * *

Months later, she lounged on the couch in Seifer's small two bed apartment on the outskirts of Deling, wilting in a late Summer heatwave. The aircon was a droning chorus to the sounds of Seifer pouring drinks in the kitchenette behind her. The TV was on mute, but the images of a recent failed usurpation in Timber flashed across the screen. Rinoa regarded it with growing irritation, and behind her a light bulb flickered and burst.

"Can you not do that?" Seifer snapped. "That's the third light bulb you've burst this month."

"How do you know it's me?" she countered. "Might just be… I dunno… faulty electrics or something."

"I know it's you," he replied matter-of-factly. "If it bothers you that much then turn it off."

"The light?"

"No, you fucking tard, the TV."

Rinoa crossed her arms and pouted. _I won't turn it off. I won't ignore what's happening. Just because Garden won't let me get involved doesn't mean I'll just forget about it._

Seifer plonked a glass of iced tea in front of her then collapsed into the adjacent armchair, a beer balanced against the arm. He stared at her narrowly. "Somethin' on your mind?"

"What makes you say that?"

"You're being less annoying than usual. You're never not annoying. Is it about what that magazine said?"

"What? What did it say?"

He poorly hid his grin around the top of the beer. "Said you're gettin' fat."

Rinoa baulked, then swallowed down her petty anger. "No. And I don't care, actually. A magazine last week said I was too thin, so there's no pleasing some people." A touch snidely, she added, "Squall likes me just the way I am anyway, and his opinion is the only one that matters."

Seifer snorted, then drank from his beer and half-interestedly watched the TV. Rinoa tapped her fingernail against the glass of her drink, listening to the ice tinkle.

At length, she said, "Are you happy?"

"Fucking Hyne, I knew it was gonna be something –"

"Just answer the question!"

"Yes, I'm happy."

She raised her eyebrows at him.

"What? Yes. I. Am. Happy. Okay? You want me to dance and sing about it or something?"

"Why are you happy? How can you be happy?" She gestured at his small apartment. "Is this what you envisioned for yourself? Spending your days hiding in here and emerging at night like some weird anti-hero to fight in the Pits?"

"Hey, I make more money there than I've ever done in my life."

"And what do you spend it on? Clearly not furnishings."

"Well, excuse me for not needing a penthouse mansion, princess. Believe it or not, the average person can get by without a yacht and a pony."

"But how can you be happy?"

"Because I'm free," he spat.

Rinoa fell quiet. Of course. It was, perhaps, one of the reasons she'd liked Seifer in the first place: he was a rebel by nature. It was the very reason he hadn't slotted into the Garden system, because Garden took away his freedom of choice and tried to placate his innate defiance. Having been brought up in Garden, he'd only ever been presented with a single path: to become a SeeD. Seifer had never truly wanted to be SeeD, because that was boring. It was expected of him. He strived to be something greater, something unexpected, something that Garden hadn't carefully constructed to fit him. And perhaps his first life-defining choice presented to him was when Ultimecia had offered the opportunity to break out of Garden's mould, to finally walk a new, different path that he had chosen himself. Was it the right choice? Perhaps not. But Rinoa found she couldn't resent him for seizing the opportunity, and Garden had never done a good job of teaching its cadets the difference between right or wrong anyway, and had barely brushed the concept of devotion.

Now he was free of the strict, boring routine Garden dictated. He could choose what he wanted to eat, choose when to get up in the morning, choose how to manage his time, choose his own career path. Even if he was wasting his time, it was his time to waste.

Rinoa appreciated that, but she didn't like seeing him squander his talents. "So what are you gonna do with the money you make then?"

Seifer drank from his beer and shrugged. "Shit, I dunno. Buy an anti-sorceress security system? I reckon Esthar must be on its way to inventing something like that. You cross a threshold and get shot down by lazers. Need that for my apartment."

Rinoa smiled wryly, thinking of Doctor Odine. "All I'm saying is, you owe people a lot. You messed up a lot of lives. I think you should put something back into the community."

"Oh, come on –"

She hardened, and the ice in her glass cracked and split apart. "Seifer. You _will_ listen to me. I'm not asking you. As sorceress to knight, I'm telling you. You are not sitting around wasting your life away. You're going to make up for what you did."

He rolled his eyes and scratched his beard. "It wasn't me half the time, anyway. You know that."

"Yes, I know what she did. Toyed with your thoughts, your memories, manipulated you into fulfilling her whims. But. You wanted it. You were open to it, to her. You wanted the glory, the infamy. You're not entirely unaccountable, so you must burden part of the guilt." She jabbed a finger at him. "And most of all you owe _me_. You're indebted to me, Almasy. Probably for the rest of your life."

"Alright, alright, I get it already. What'dya want me to do? Pick litter? Volunteer at food banks? I can't exactly get involved in public relations. I'll be fucking shot on sight."

"There is something you can do for me." She smiled sweetly. "You might even enjoy it."

* * *

They were sitting in a Balamb café when they heard the news. The whole Orphanage Gang was there to witness it, even Squall, who had somehow managed to slip away from under Xu's watchful eye to have some well-earned down time. The café was pretty modern by Balamb standards (painfully backwards by Deling's) and had a sprawl of white tables on a mosaic floor, with wicker cushioned chairs. It also had a few TVs mounted on the walls, and from one nearby the World News played on repeat.

Quistis cut off the conversation (well, Selphie's jabbering about the upcoming Garden Festival to an uninterested Squall and Zell's account of a Civil War in Dollet pre-Adel) by jabbing a finger at the TV screen, delicately arching an eyebrow, and saying, "Hey, what's that about?"

The gang stared at her, then turned to the TV as a unit, straining around on the backs of their chairs.

The news was playing scenes from Timber. A prim reporter with a twang to her accent that suggested she was from Winhill stood before the scene in a tight navy suit. She held a microphone in one hand and gestured to the scene behind her with the other.

" – new front in the rebellion effort against the Galbadian regime. Details are yet to be confirmed, but what we understand so far is the resistance members infiltrated the Galbadian base using tactics that are – according to our witnesses – undeniably military. Allegedly, one of the men broke into the base under the cover of night and somehow secured entry for the rest of the group. The Galbadian squad was caught off guard. They were surrounded, disarmed and tied up. Miraculously nobody was injured, but the resistance group stole their weapon stock and damaged the A66-TZ Tank inside, rendering it useless."

Selphie leered at Rinoa over the top of her Hazelnut Latte. "Is this the Owls, Rin?" she said, with no small amount of accusation, albeit playful.

Rinoa blinked at her guilelessly. "You know the Owls are out of commission. After the war Galbadia really set to securing Timber. What with their strained resources, they can't afford to lose Timber now. The Owls couldn't stand up against them. Not alone anyway."

The reported continued, "The tactics used by this resistance force suggest that this is an entirely new faction that's appeared, or an older faction led by a newcomer, presumably someone with a background in military training. There are rumours of a pair of spray painted feather wings left on the tank's side, but nothing yet to confirm this."

This time all eyes fell on Rinoa. She shrugged. "It's not me! I've been with Squall the whole time!"

"She has," Squall confirmed.

"Whatever, man," Zell said. "You'd say anything to keep Rin outta trouble."

Squall levelled a stern look at him. "I'm telling the truth. She knows better than that."

Rinoa punched him lightly on the arm, slightly ruffled by his patronising undertone.

"All this reporter can say," the woman went on, "is this might very well be the upper hand the Timber resistance has been pining for, and might finally give the Galbadians a fight to remember. A fight that could hand Timber its freedom. I'm Jane Neway and this is Timber News."

When the report finished, the group fell back to discussing the more mundane and upbeat parts of their lives, but Squall glanced sideways at Rinoa and rattled the Bond curiously.

Rinoa caught his gaze, winked and stuck her tongue out. Harmless on the outside, but he managed to garner something from her mind. Whatever he saw he kept to himself, but offered her a nod and the faintest of smiles.

Rinoa looked up at the TV screen, thought of the spray painted wings, and grinned.


End file.
